


Brimming with

by Tanacetum



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Stolen Century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanacetum/pseuds/Tanacetum
Summary: Barry gets sent to fetch Lup for lasagna night on the Starblaster. She decides she'd much rather break into an abandoned, probably haunted,definitelycursed building in the woods for sex. He loves her very much.





	Brimming with

There’s a rush of cold, humid air, just short of drizzle, when Taako slams the button for the Starblaster’s shield to open a portal and sends the gangplank squelching into the muddy ground below. Barry jogs down and jumps the puddle at the bottom without waiting for the gangplank to settle, in direct contravention of safety protocol that not even Davenport has followed for decades.

“I’m gonna leave this open, do _not_ drag back fifteen tons of mud with you. Do not let _Merle_ drag back fifteen tons of mud. Dunk him in the lake if you gotta, I’m not swabbing the deck!” Taako calls.

“What if Lup wants to drag in—drag in fifteen tons of mud?” Barry responds with a cheeky grin. “Or only fourteen, would that be okay?”

Taako flips him off with both hands and minces back towards the cabin. “I will make you ingrates eat your lasagna cold, do not test me, Barold! I’ll let Magnus eat all the breadsticks!”

“Love you too,” Barry shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth. He’s answered by the door slamming as Taako hurries back to the oven.

A breeze peppers his glasses with flecks of water. He stretches out in the cool air and breathes deeply, savoring the scent of wet, growing green things. Then he remembers Merle and pulls a face.

This plane has been a little too much fun for certain party members. It’s winter now, though a winter that’s a far cry from the icy dryness of their home plane. Winters here are wet and verdant. Perpetual drizzle streaks the rubbery leaves and soaks the bright, crepe-thin blooms that festoon the trees like jewels.

Sunset tints the thin blanket of clouds with rose and lavender hues. For just one moment, Barry fixes his eyes on that lavender and lets himself pretend.

He can see why Lup wanted to spend the afternoon out here. He can also see why Merle wanted to spend the afternoon out here, but he’d rather not think about _that_.

“Get going!” comes Taako’s voice from a porthole window above.

Barry extends his middle finger and takes his time making sure the hems of his jeans are securely tucked into his galoshes before taking off at a half-jog.

They’re docked for once, instead of parked, the Starblaster floating in the shallows of an artificial lake set amidst a garden that stretches for miles around them. Spray from the fountains in the lake dots Barry’s t-shirt as he plods around mires of sticky, dark mud. Taako kicked him out of the lab with just enough time to shuck his lab coat for cleaning and pull boots on, but not enough to grab a jacket. It’s warm enough that he doesn’t mind.

The mud caking his galoshes makes him skid when he hits the pathway of paving stones. He catches himself on a tree trunk and shuffles through thick, springy glass to scrape some of the mud off before continuing along the trail.

He’s spent the last couple months with his nose practically buried in the Light of Creation, he realizes, lost and squinting at the foliage not ten minutes later. He doesn’t know a thing about the abundant plant life around him. Lucretia described this plane as “an egalitarian solarpunk paradise, it’s kind of the shit”, and he nodded and smiled, but he only really internalized that the takeout was better than they’d had since Tesseralia. Now all he can do is stare at the living wealth of an alien planet and be bored because he doesn’t know the difference between the oblong rubbery-leafed shrubs and the spiky rubbery-leafed ones.

“Lup? Merle?” he shouts, giving up on his attempt at scrutiny. He knows better than to ask Merle a damn thing about the plants. He also really wants Merle to have plenty of time to hear him coming. “Taako says dinner’s in—in like, fifteen, where are you guys? Merle!”

The breeze picks up, mussing his bangs. He rolls his shoulders and continues on into the trees.

They’re planted densely, flowering bushes and reedy grasses packed around them, copses delineated by little half-circle walls of limestone brick that open facing the trail. Sometimes there are plaques: In Memory of, In Honor, Dedicated to, With Love. Dozens of names he’ll never get a chance to learn the significance of. The year’s almost over.

But they got the Light. Barry catches himself smiling after he stops at a clump of bright red-and-yellow flowers for a breather. Lucretia doesn’t have to frantically fill pages and pages with compact scrawl. They won’t be raiding libraries for everything Taako can shrink down. The Hunger will ravage this plane when it comes, but the people here will outlive their visit. They did not fail; nothing will be lost because of them.

Off to his side, beyond the neat gardens along the path, a curtain of vines rustles. Barry takes a bracing breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “Merle?”

“Nope!” Lup calls, cheery and distant. The rustling grows more enthusiastic. Barry waits with a bemused expression until she comes bursting out of the underbrush, batting vines away from her face. She breaks into a run and leaps over one of the half-walls. She lands on the stone with a _thunk_ , sure footed, and brushes hair out of her face.

She’s grinning ear to ear. Her baby hairs are plastered to her forehead by rain or sweat. She’s got flower petals and sticks stuck in her ponytail and a steak of mud down the side of her tanktop. She’s a vision.

“Got something there, Bluejeans,” she says, tapping her mouth. Which is how he realizes he’s mirroring her grin, and also that he has lettuce from lunch stuck between his teeth.

She wheels in place while he blushes furiously and works the lettuce free. “I found some rad mushrooms,” she says, breaking the silence before it has a chance to grow awkward. “Super like, day-glo, radioactive oranges n’ reds n’ lime green. Prettier than some of these flowers.”

Barry gives up on the lettuce and casts prestidigitation on himself with a puff of sparks. It fizzes up his fingertips and across his gums, dissolving the lettuce before clearing streaks from his glasses he didn’t even realize were there. Lup’s image is much sharper when he looks up. He can see the delicately curled edges of the flower petals in her hair, soft white frills outlined by dark strands.

His blush deepens. He can tell by how much colder the drizzle feels. “Uh, mushrooms. Cool. Just uh, radioactive ones, or are you bringing some home for dinner?”

Lup makes a face. “Nope, not for dinner, we’re not experimenting with maybe-poison this cycle. I mean, I guess I could ask Merle, _but_ …”

“Yup, but. Bad plan.” Barry chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. It feels hot under his hand. Gods, he needs to get his act together.

Lup sends a concerned glance his way. His eyes widen and he takes half a step back. Then he follows her gaze and realizes she’s watching the sky.

He looks up to see dark thunderheads sweeping in, thick as a blanket and ominous as the sudden dusk they bring. Now that he’s paying attention, he realizes that the reedy stalks of grass are rustling around them, despite the dense tree cover.

Lup shivers and rubs her bare shoulders. “D’you think Merle had the sense to get his own ass back to the ship? Or is this storm gonna catch him with his pants down?”

“Uh—honestly? The latter, probably. Literally.”

“You know him so well. The mushrooms are gonna have to wait,” she says, turning away. “C’mon, I left him by the pond covered in not-hydrangeas like, forty minutes ago. Cuz he was gonna skinny-dip.”

“Of course he was,” Barry says, rolling his eyes. She laughs and gestures for him to follow her down the trail.

They pass dozens of weathered statues overlooking flowerbeds. The motifs on this plane are strange; there are grinning animals and birds with chunky wings, but none that Barry can name, and where he’d expect the wheeling twin suns of his home, instead there are sculptures of mountain ranges set on pedestals, springy moss deliberately cultivated in their vales. Forests in miniature.

There are very few mountains on this plane. Maybe Lucretia would know their significance in art. He’s thinking of poking one with his fingertip when Lup scoops up his hand.

She cuts him off before he can stammer something embarrassing. “I’m not sure I wanna get wet, so let’s book it. There’s a shortcut, c’mon.”

He lets her yank him off the trail. All too soon, she releases his hand so he can clamber over a limestone half-wall, and then she’s pushing clumps of branches aside so he can squeeze his way between the slim trunks of flowering trees.

They’re left facing each other in the shadow of the canopy, both absolutely covered in wet flower petals. Lup’s eyes flash amber in the dark. She’s standing very close. Not close enough.

“Through here!” She brushes herself off and turns away. The shed petals leave damp spots all over her tanktop. Barry’s eyes snap to her bra straps, sliding down her shoulders. He wants to reach out and tuck them back beneath her shirt.

He wants to pull her shirt off, then her bra, and cup her breasts. Her skin there would be as soft as her hands. As soft as the flower petals.

Barry swallows thickly and trips on a root, stumbling after her into the dark.

When they slip back out onto the path, they find the not-hydrangea pond deserted. There are only the dense spheres of pale pink and blue flowers that line the shore. The water, glassy-green, is opaque with the ripples from pattering drizzle.

“If he’s somewhere down there, I don’t wanna know about it until next cycle,” Barry says. “I’m not jumping in after him.”

“Deffo. Hard agree,” Lup says. She throws a stick into the water and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with him as they watch it sink.

They’re chased off by a sheet of rain descending like a slap to the face. They retreat under the canopy of trees. Lup wrings out her ponytail and laughs. Barry wipes his glasses and when he looks up, she’s off again, darting into the forest.

The rain peters back to a fine mist as the branches thicken overhead, but a rumble of thunder promises they haven’t seen the last of it. “Merle!” Lup shouts into the woods. “Where the hell are you, old man?”

“You don’t think he Parleyed, do you?”

Lup wheels in a circle, scrutinizing trees that all look the same to Barry. She must learn something, because she picks a direction and darts off. “I thought he liked this place better than death-by-Johnny Voreman. Shouldn’t he have at least told the Cap’n, if he changed his mind about skipping a year?” she calls over her shoulder, slowing her pace so he can catch up with her.

She cuts a winding path, dipping in and out of the trees. She leads Barry past glass and bronze structures like intricate lanterns, shielding fat starbursts of blindingly white flowers. He climbs with her up the slippery rocks of an ornamental waterfall, laughs when she seals her mouth over the concealed spigot for a drink.

They don’t have a reason to not stick to the path, he realizes, as they slide down a grassy bank together. They’re probably wasting time. He finds himself having so much fun he doesn’t mind, watching as Lup accidentally flips onto her stomach. She skids face-first and springs back to her feet, spitting out a mouthful of grass. He reclines while she wipes her lips clean. They’re very pink and very shiny.

His reasons to have spent this cycle hunched over at his desk—that he was busy with the Light, that it’s so rare they have it for this long, on a peaceful world, with everyone alive—seem insignificant. Why did he sequester himself in the lab every day when he could’ve had this? What could he have found so intoxicating about the Light? Lup’s eyes shine so much brighter.

He can’t have her the way he wants, but this is good. This is also good. She takes his hand in hers and tugs him to his feet. He expects her to let go, but a sudden peal of thunder makes her grip him tighter. She startles and bumps into his chest, and it’s all he can do to not wrap an arm around her back and hold her there.

“We should probably head inside,” he says, fervently wishing that he could suspend this moment in infinity. “Merle’s a grown dwarf. He can find his own way back to the ship.”

“There’s just one more place we should check.” Lup’s ears are flat against her head. Her fingers wind into Barry’s shirt, pulling at the fabric so that little pinched circles open between his buttons.

“Are you sure, lo—?” he asks, letting _‘love’_ die on his lips. “Lup. It’s—this storm looks bad. He’s not gonna mind if we head back. It’s Merle, he’ll understand. And it’s kind of his own damn fault anyway.”

Her fingers are still clenched in the fabric of his shirt. Her other hand grips his so tightly that his knuckles are going white. She won’t meet his eyes. “I wanted to show you a thing. Besides, it’s on the way, I promise. C’mon.”

She lets go of his shirt but not his hand. There are only a scant few inches between them; he can feel the heat radiating off her body as he squeezes after her, batting away branches and kicking fronds.

Before long, they’re so deep in the woods that the mist parting around Lup’s ankles is barely visible. There isn’t even enough light to reflect off her eyes. The foliage rustles in all directions, either from pouring rainwater or unseen creatures.

With the manicured walkways of the garden so far behind, it feels like Lup could be the only other person on this lush, breathing plane. If she slipped away into the dark—and if he wasn’t a wizard—Barry might never find his way home.

He feels like he should be holding on tighter. Like he should be kissing her.

He swallows and fights to dismiss the thought, hoping that Lup mistakes the nervous sweat gathering between their joined hands for rainwater. It doesn’t help, when she starts rubbing circles across his knuckles with her thumb.

“This is it,” Lup says, over the thundering of his pulse in his ears. “Or—shit, you can’t see it—”

Barry squints. Whatever this is, it’s not on the way back to the ship.

Lup lets go of his hand at the same time a clap of thunder roars. He can’t help himself; he quails. But then her hands find his shoulders. He’s shuffling into place before he’s aware she’s steering him.

“There,” she says. The soft skin at the crook of her elbow grazes his cheek. She points over his shoulder, her silhouette dim and indefinite. “What do you think, babe?”

It’s by the rush of pattering water that he can tell there’s a gap in the trees a short distance ahead. Beyond that, the shadows seem a touch more opaque. Barry huffs a laugh. “I think I can’t see shit.”

He can tell that she’s quashing laughter by the way her chest heaves against his back. “Well, gosh darnit! So much for my big reveal.”

She snaps her fingers and swirls of radiant color bloom before his eyes. The lights dance forward, coruscating vivid pink to glaring red to neon orange and burnished copper. They eclipse the cool darkness of the forest, leaving Barry blinking stars as his eyes adjust.

They glint off something hulking in the dark, solid and ominous.

The lights spread out and chase across the weathered siding and cracked panes of a tiny cabin with high, large windows. The bushes overtaking it are rendered inky by the warm glow. Their leaves crowd up against the glass and cover most of the inset door, painted a rusty brown that now peels off in streaks like dried blood. Underfoot, traces of a gravel path are choked by leaf litter. It must have been a very long time since someone last came here.

 “Wow, _neat,”_ Barry says, with feeling.

Lup’s grin is clear in her voice. “I know, right? Looks haunted as shit!”

Barry grins back, his cheek pressing into her arm. She seems content to leave it on his shoulder and drape across his back. He briefly wonders if he should hunch so he’s not pressed against her breasts, then resolves to enjoy himself. “Have you been inside yet?”

“No- _pe_ ,” she says, popping the p. “I decided to leave it _pristine_ for our first investigation. Didn’t wanna disturb the site before my esteemed colleague’s arrival.”

Barry’s grin dims a notch. Colleague. That’s right. He steps forward, leaving a respectful distance between them. “Well, let’s crack open this cold one.”

The hinges are rusted solid. The door has sunk into its frame and rests heavily against the stone threshold. The frame itself is warped with age and damp. The wood’s gone mossy and mushy; Lup pulls back and wrinkles her nose after she prods it with a fingertip. The swirling lights dapple her forehead where the rain plasters her bangs down.

“I don’t wanna just break a window,” she says, chewing her lip. A drifting light makes her eyes flash like gold coins. “Like, it’s pretty.”

“Yeah, gorgeous,” Barry says, not meaning the cabin at all. Though it is pretty. From chest height and upwards, the slats of siding give way to picture windows set into wooden frames. What he can see of the roof is an expanse of skylights. “I, uh—I think maybe this might’ve been a greenhouse?”

“Could be. Or like, a whadyacallem—conservatory? Pavilion?” Lup sweeps her hand to gather her lights. They dart into her orbit and wreathe her like flames. “I think we’re gonna have to force the door on this bad boy.”

The handle lever won’t budge, not even when Barry squeezes it with both hands. When he shoves, the latch stays stubbornly in place.

“I deffo see a couch in there,” Lup says, haloed in light and flattening her face against a window with her ears canted forward, “so let’s try to do our entering with minimal breaking. I wanna sit without getting shattered glass in my buttcrack.”

“No other entrances?”

“Nope, just the one. Hey, babe, scoot.”

Her light brightens. Barry steps aside and glances over to see a smokeless jet of flame sprouting from her fingertip, flickering beneath her smile. “Um,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. _“Um,_ arson?”

“Natch.” Lup’s smile splits into a wide grin. “Just a teeny little bit of arson. I’m not burning the forest down. At least, not in this rain.”

“Right, well, I’m sure as hell not gonna stop you.” He laughs, and she goes to work on the hinges.

The door sags forward alarmingly as soon as she cuts through the top set. “Oops, babe, brace it for me!”

Barry throws his shoulder into the wood. With a grunt, he takes its weight as she slices through the old iron. Molten droplets trickle past his face. They cool and congeal almost instantly, but the radiating heat is so intense that the tip of his nose feels scorched. Wholly unbothered, Lup crouches for the last set of hinges, trailing her finger along the line where white-hot flame meets red-hot metal.

Gently, carefully, he shoves the door inwards, gripping the handle to keep it upright as the latch pops free.

Lup helps Barry walk the door across rough stone tiles and prop it against the wall. While he brushes chips of paint off his shirt, she stretches her fingertips up towards the ceiling. Her lights pour in and bubble up to float among the eaves. Blurrily mirrored in the skylights, they form a rainbow aurora.

It’s gorgeous, but Barry wouldn’t be ashamed to admit that he’s far more enthralled by the way stretching made Lup’s tanktop roll up over the swell of her stomach. She catches his eye with a smile and makes no move to fix her clothes.

“Well, uh, this is pretty cool,” he says. “Seems like a cozy place to wait out the storm.” He suspects they’ve long since decided that they’ll be missing lasagna night.

“Yeah, it was like, almost bone-dry in here,” Lup says, licking her lips.

She’s right. The single room of the little pavilion was well-sealed. Now the humid scent of rain crowds in around them, rapidly overwhelming the stale dust.

There are statues—more birds, their eyes glassy and haunting, and more mountains, with mossy forests gone brown and brittle—interspersed by empty trellises and planters. Barry peers into one and sees a few teaspoons of pale dirt piled at the bottom. The stone tiles are clean swept, the only mud tracked in by their shoes. A wicker couch stands in the corner, flanked by matching, glass-topped endtables. Lup flops facedown on the cushions.

Barry busies himself with untucking his shirt and using the hem to wipe his glasses. Lup wiggles on the couch, scraping the toe of one boot against the other’s heel to try and force it off. All she’s succeeding at is getting mud everywhere. She makes a displeased noise into the cushions.

“Um, want some help?” Barry asks. He replaces his glasses and is confronted with an immaculate image of Lup with her knees in the cushions and her ass in the air.

“Yes please,” she says, flipping over with her feet extended. Her face is as red as his feels, tinted by the lights floating overhead.

He sweeps aside clumps of mud and kneels before her. She watches intently as he plucks the laces of her boots loose and slides them off her feet, one after another.

She’s leaning forward when he’s finished, her hand hovering like she’s thinking of petting his hair. She’s been touching him a lot tonight, he realizes.

Boldly, he stands up and plunks himself down on the couch beside her, thigh-to-thigh. The cream fabric upholstering the cushions is rough under his fingertips. Unmarred by the passage of time since this building was abandoned.

Abandoned and _locked_. Lup knew there was no chance Merle was ever here. Barry clears his throat. “So, uh, do I need to ask you about—ulterior motives?”

Lup pulls away to face him, her expression indecipherable for a moment. Then she bursts into laughter. _“Ulterior?_ Babe, I’m out to shank subtlety and leave it dead in a ditch.”

Her laughter is nervous. She leans back on the arm of the couch. Barry can tell she’s trying to relax. But she doesn’t swing her feet into his lap like she normally would. She holds herself stiffly from eartips to toes, like a tripwire primed to spring.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You need to—you got something you need to talk about?”

“I mean, nooooooooot really.” She pulls her legs under her and surges forward on her knees. His hands come up to catch the bottom of her ribs as she leans over him. He twists to face her, awkwardly, and her lips ghost across his.

Her shirt is still hiked up. His hands rest on bare flesh, impossibly soft, chilled and slightly damp from the rain. He grips her tighter and she lets him. He presses his lips firmly into hers and she sighs against his mouth.

The couch is suddenly too large. He settles back into the cushions and she shimmies forward to fully straddle him, his hands sliding up to her chest.

He traces the band of her bra with his thumbs while she cradles the back of his head in one hand. With her other, she grips his shoulder, pinning him against the backrest. And she kisses him. Breathlessly, hungrily, with her tongue darting out to taste his lips and drink in his adoration.

What surprises him the most is that it’s so easy to kiss her. Their teeth click and she giggles into his mouth and it’s still the best Barry’s ever felt. Lup is the best. She’s perfect, in his lap with her fingers tangled in his hair, fitting against him like they were made for each other.

He relaxes into that fantasy, shoves away the knowledge that this is temporary. A fleeting moment of warmth before he goes back to a narrow mattress in a cold bunk. This is new and exciting and he can’t hope for it to happen again. He hasn’t asked her to tie herself to him any more than she already is. Than all the Starblaster’s crew are.

It wouldn’t be right of him. How could they date, amidst the cyclic chaos of their lives? When she wanted to get away from him, she wouldn’t be able to go far for very long. He won’t put her in that position.

But, if she wants _this_ from him, she can have it. He sneaks a fingertip beneath her bra and she grins. “Need some help with that, babe?”

“Mmm, no,” he says, darting a glance towards the empty threshold, a black rectangle that leads out into a night whispering with soft rain. They should be safe enough. “Just permission.”

“Sports bra. Opens in the front,” she advises, grin unwavering.

He finds the zipper and tugs slowly downwards. With a contented sigh, she flexes her shoulders. The band separates and her bra falls open.

Her breasts are perfect too. He knew this; they’ve lived in each other’s pockets for decades, he’s seen her topless more times than he can count. But he’s never gotten to touch. He doesn’t hesitate to cup one in his hand and brush his thumb across the nipple.

Lup gives a gratifying, full-body shiver. “That’s good,” she breathes, resting her cheek against his. “That’s very good. But now you’re wearing too much clothing. S’not fair.”

He’s sure she can feel his blush. “You want—my shirt off?”

“For starters,” she says, already grabbing for the hem. Leaving him wondering how far she wants to go.

She yanks his shirt up. He hunches, stuck with his elbows at his ears and his collar over his nose, while she slides his glasses off. He wriggles the rest of the way out of his shirt, self-conscious of the folds of his belly between her knees.

Lup leans to _clack_ his glasses down on the endtable. Without them, the pavilion is an incandescent blur. Her features are soft and flushed, limned in fiery rainbow, and everything beyond them melts into shadow. The sight takes his breath away.

“You’re gorgeous,” she says, and he’s struck speechless. “Gods, look at you, Bear. You’re so pretty like this.”

“Lup, you’re… _amazing_.” He fumbles for words big enough to encompass how he feels in this moment. He’s never been good at that. To him, emotions are manifold things, with so many surfaces that the act of describing them to someone else obfuscates their shape.

He abandons his train of thought to kiss her instead, giddy with the freedom. He can show her how he loves her like this.

Her knees sink into the cushions as she melts against his chest. His tongue is slick in her fever-hot mouth. Her chest heaves. She grips the back of his neck and runs her fingertips along the shell of his ear, making soft, pleased noises.

Having his ears touched doesn’t do much for him. But he returns the favor, his soft smile turning into a wicked grin when she gasps and shakes. “You like that, huh?”

“Lotta nerve endings there,” Lup says, shooting for aloof and hitting dazed. He’s never been so proud. “Aur—auricular, occipital, auriculo…temporal. Whatever.”

Barry chuckles. “Whatever feels good. Lup, what can I— May I?”

He plucks at the waistband of her shorts. For a moment, she freezes, and his heart sinks from the weight of fear that he’s made her uncomfortable. But then she jerks a nod and her hands fly to her zipper. She sits back and tugs it open.

Then there’s a bit of wriggling and knee-bumping as she works out how to get her shorts off without leaving his lap. In the end, laughing, he shimmies them free of her ankles, to deposit in a crumpled, grass-stained heap with his t-shirt.

He strokes down her hip and realizes her panties went with the shorts. She pushes into his hand. “ _Yes_ ,” she says.

He buries his face in her neck. She smells a little like their shared detergent, a little like rain, but mostly like sweat and fire. The molten-iron scent from the melted hinges clings to her, so perfectly Lup.

“Want you,” she breathes, while he drags his teeth across her neck, wishing he could leave a mark. “C’mon, Bear. Don’t tease.”

He doesn’t ask her if she’s sure. He doesn’t give voice to any of his own insecurities. In this moment, she deserves to enjoy herself, and he can help with that.

He tips them over to lie on their sides, one arm barred around her back, keeping her secure against him. She shoves him into place so she can lay her head on his arm and throws one of her legs over his hips. While she tries to insinuate her other leg between his knees, he catches the back of her thigh in his hand and traces its muscles to the curve of her ass.

Her breath hitches as he probes further. He brushes his fingertips through the wetness gathered between her legs. She’s slick enough to drip, the insides of her thighs soaked. Her folds are flushed warm against his knuckles when she jerks her hips against his hand.

“Patience.” He chuckles and counts two breaths, just to make her wait, before sliding one finger into her.

“You _ass_ ,” she says, going boneless in his arms. Her chest feels soft against his and her walls are even softer. His finger slides easier than he can believe. She sighs and ruffles his hair. “Finally. Gimme another. _Please_.”

Her voice breaks around the plea. It lodges in Barry’s mind and jolts straight to his cock. He knows he’ll be able to replay that sound for the rest of his life. It’s everything he’s wanted to hear from her. “Yes ma’am. Since you asked so nicely.”

His second finger slides in just as easily. He pumps them, a fast in-out that has her scrambling to grip at his arm. He’s hard in his jeans, but the discomfort is a faint afterthought, overwhelmed by how good it feels to curl his fingers inside her while she pants.

He fucks her slowly on his fingers, desperately wishing he’d known to bring a condom. His pulse buzzes in his cock, aching for the relief of her soft wetness. He wants to pin her to the cushions and snap his hips into her until she cries out.

“More,” she says, and he’s helpless to do anything but give her what she wants. He lets her have a third finger and grinds the base of his palm against her folds, searching for her clit.

“Can you come like this?” he breathes. “I want you to come.”

“ _Gods_ , Bear—yeah, yeah, lemme just—” She breaks off to squeeze a hand between them. She pushes his hand lower, to an angle that lets her sink further onto his fingers, and rubs small circles against her clit.

He’s transfixed. He wishes he had a better view. “I should’ve laid you out,” he says, voice husky. “I was an idiot to not get my mouth on you. I want to feel you on my tongue.”

She honest-to-god _whimpers_. Lust fizzes through his veins. He wants it so bad he can almost taste her; the heady tang of sex rising from her body, but a hundred times stronger. He wants to drink in as much of her as she’ll let him have.

“’M close,” she gasps. “Tell me—tell me how you want me. I wanna hear it.” She rocks her knee between his thighs, trying to press against his cock.

“I want to do this with you in a bed,” he says. “I want to take my time and make you feel good. I want—I want to _really_ explore, to see all of you.”

She rubs her clit faster and makes encouraging noises. He answers her by pumping his fingers harder, deep strokes that jolt her from head to toe.

“I want to fuck you like this on my cock,” he says, faintly worried this will be too much. But she writhes in his arms, jerking her hips to meet his thrusts. “You—you’re amazing. I love—everything about you. About this.”

“I want you to fuck me,” she mumbles. “You feel so good, Bear. I wanna be in bed with you and just—spend the whole day touching you. I wanna ride you like I stole you.”

She surges against his chest and seals her lips with his. She kisses him sloppily, wet and needy, her breath catching in her throat.

He relaxes into the kiss, really and truly relaxes in a way he hasn’t for maybe years. She’s taut with pleasure against him, because of him, and for the first time he believes that she really wants him. Not just a quick roll in the hay, but _him_.

His eyes, after so long staring at the blurry frizz of her hair across her cheekbones, the length of her ear glowing red-pink-orange under the aurora of dancing lights, flutter shut. He’s warm and comfortable and as close as he can get to the woman he loves, her body pressed against him head-to-toe with his fingers sheathed inside her.

He breathes with her, and feels her wrist jerk against him as she rubs circles into her clit, and comes in his pants like a teenager.

She bites off a cry. He stills and gasps for a moment, then redoubles his efforts, thrusting his fingers into her as hard and fast as he can. “Yes,” she chants, reverent as a prayer, “yes, yes, _yes—"_

She convulses in his arms, clenching around his knuckles tight enough to ache. Gods, he wants to feel that on his cock, even though he’s already spent and sticky. Her lights wink out all at once and the cabin plunges into soupy darkness.

They keep breathing together afterwards. Until she wriggles her arm loose, giggling, and bats at his elbow. He pulls his fingers out of her and finds them so wet that the night air feels chilly. “You don’t want another?”

“Another would kill me,” she says. “You were _so good_.” She shoves at his stomach and keeps wriggling against him.

He laughs. “What are you trying to do?”

“Just—hold still—no, move a little—” She manages to push her arm under his chest and curl it around his back. He finds himself trapped in a bear hug, his wet hand dangling off the edge of the couch.

It’s _so nice_. Even with the wet spot spreading in his jeans. He relaxes against her and thinks about sucking his fingers dry.

“Lemme just—” she says, and the damning fizz of prestidigitation blooms from her hands. It scrubs the sweat and slick from their bodies in a wave.

He makes a disappointed noise and she freezes. “I didn’t get to taste you,” he explains.

She laughs and smacks a palm against his back. “Is that all? Cuz, you know, we can do something about that in a little while.”

“Oh?” he says, heart fluttering. “Uh, uh-huh?”

“ _Yeah_ -huh. Do you wanna stay here and enjoy the afterglow, maybe see how the rest of the night goes, or do you wanna go home and microwave leftover lasagna while Taako judges us?”

Barry scrunches his nose. “There’s probably not even leftovers. I bet he let Mags eat it all.”

“Oh, he would,” she says. “And he’s gonna—”

Thunder cracks overhead. A heavy _thud_ shakes the tiny cabin. Lup flips out of Barry’s arms before he can react. She snaps her fingers and shoots a luminescent spray into the darkness.

“Oh, the door fell over,” she says, sitting back while he scrambles for his glasses.

He shoves them on and still can’t see a damn thing. “We’re—we’re those assholes in a horror movie who get murdered first.”

Lup bends double laughing. “Holy shit, you’re so right. We broke into the haunted-ass cabin in the woods and—”

“Screwed like teenagers. We’re lying here half-naked!”

“Honestly? High-five,” Lup says. He doesn’t realize she’s serious until she grabs up his wrist and slaps her palm against his. He blindly tries for a second one and misses by a mile.

“You are _so fucking cute_ ,” she says, swinging her legs into his lap. “Stay here with me? Even though we might get ax-murdered by ghosts?”

“Wow, uh, don’t jinx it,” he says. He’s not going to say no, not when she’s warm and solid against him. “I bet you—I bet you wouldn’t even let me go anyway.”

She hums and wiggles to get comfortable. “Nope, I definitely wouldn’t. You know me so well. Hope you’re comfy, cuz this is gonna be our whole night.”

“And what about the morning?” Barry asks, unwilling to keep this niggling fear caged in his ribs when her touch is making the rest of him candle-warm and cotton-soft. When she wakes up, will she still want to be in his arms?

She shoves him onto his back and splays out across his chest. “It’ll be my bare ass on display, and everybody on the crew has seen that already. I’m totally down for pulling a Merle. We’ll make ‘em regret not knocking.”

“There’s no—” Barry chokes on a laugh. “Lup, there is very definitely not a door. This room is mostly windows, in fact.”

“Mmmm, don’t care,” she says. “I super doubt anyone’s gonna find this place before dawn wakes us up. And I don’t care if they know I’m with you. I wanna be here in the morning. Then we can see what else we’re in the mood for.”

Hope kindles in his chest, making his whole body feel lighter. “I mean—I mean, by then? Breakfast, _definitely_.”

Lup pushes herself onto her forearms and crawls up his body. She whisks his glasses back off and hovers over him. He can’t see a thing, but, somehow, he knows she’s smiling. “Okay, it’s a date. Lucretia and I found this great little café in town that does lactose-free eggs benedict. Let’s see how long we can play hooky before someone comes to drag us back to the ship by our ears.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Barry says, trapped under her weight and feeling the freest he’s ever been. “I’m here for it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Two bits that got cut while I was figuring out how to start the makeouts:
> 
> **********
> 
> Gently, he nibbles at her neck, with his fingertips poised above the curve of her ass.
> 
> “Don’t tease!” she says, and rocks against him where he’s hard in his jeans. 
> 
> “Now who’s teasing?” He’d been able to ignore how full and tight his cock feels before she decided to poke at it. What gets him is that he can tell exactly how wet she is, even through denim. “I didn’t know our, our agenda—did you bring a condom?”
> 
> “Gods, I wish. I should’ve.” She presses down onto him again, worrying her lip. “I wasn’t one-hundo percent sure how you’d be feeling about this.”
> 
> He drags his thumb across her jawline. She’s left divots in her lip from her teeth, and he kisses those away, holding her tight. 
> 
> **********
> 
> She pulls back and slips out of his hands. His lips tingle, electrified. Her expression is downcast. “Um, sorry if this was—a little boundary-crossy.”
> 
> “No, no, it’s—it’s fine,” Barry says. He has the absurd compulsion to wipe his lips. But he feels more like never washing them again, so he can preserve the sense-memory of that brief touch forever.
> 
> “It’s more than fine,” he presses on as she sags and starts to move her feet to the floor. “I was just—surprised. Good surprised.”
> 
> Lup snickers and resettles across his knees. “’Good surprised’, Bluejeans? A beautiful woman kisses you and that’s all you got?”
> 
> “I mean, right now I have you, so that’s all I care about.”
> 
> Her pupils blow wide before embarrassment can overtake him. “Well, I’m glad I could distract you from work for a hot second,” she says, her tone lilting, teasing. “You’re lucky you’ve got other people to feed you. Do you even get yourself to bed at night, babe?”
> 
> Lup knows he doesn’t. It’s hard to miss where someone is or what they’re up to on the ship when more than half the rooms are off the same narrow hallway.
> 
> He usually waits until he’s dozing at his desk, eyes too heavy to stay open, before he stirs and slinks off. Back to his bunk: empty, cold, the sheets undisturbed since the morning. Smelling only of him.
> 
> He’s so sick of hating that he feels alone while surrounded by friends. Family.
> 
>  
> 
> **********
> 
>  
> 
> Happy Blupjeans week, y'all. Find me on tumblr @tansyfandom


End file.
